


Dean After Dentist

by sarapunzel



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Crossdressing, Destiel - Freeform, Domestic destiel, M/M, Stoned Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-03
Updated: 2013-01-03
Packaged: 2017-11-23 11:32:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/621668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarapunzel/pseuds/sarapunzel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean heads to the dentist, gets put under laughing gas, and receives a bottle of pain pills. He spends the rest of the day in a loopy, blitzed-out haze, and hallucinates a bizarre sexcapade with Castiel.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dean After Dentist

                “Winchester?” the grinning nurse called, clipboard in hand. Dean looked up from his auto magazine, dread pooling in his gut. “Dr. French is ready for you now.”

                Dean got to his feet, laying the magazine down on the crayon-streaked coffee table beside him. The nurse turned and walked down the hallway, and Dean followed reluctantly. He had fought monsters and demons and soulless bastards on Earth, in Heaven, and in Hell, but one thing he still couldn’t bring himself to face without fear was the dentist. He wriggled his tongue across the rough chink of molar in the back of his mouth, that damned cavity that had sent him begrudgingly to French & Graham Dentistry. It taken weeks of alternately coaxing, bribing, and threatening for Sam to convince Dean to make the appointment. In fact, if it hadn’t been for Sam’s recruitment of Cas, Dean might still be sitting in his kitchen drinking copious amounts of whiskey to numb the toothache. When Sam had explained to Castiel that Dean’s tooth was infected, the angel had first insisted on simply healing it himself. But once Sam added that it would be healthy for Dean to face his fear, Cas had agreed, taking up the cause as though it were a commandment from God himself. Day and night, the angel had prodded and insisted repeatedly that Dean make the call. “Dean, your tooth is sick. I worked hard to put you together properly. You need to take better care of yourself.”

                As annoying as it had been, Dean couldn’t ignore the warmth, the security he felt in being so adamantly cared about. The angel all but coddled him these days, as they spent so much time together Cas had learned to read him almost as well as Sam could. It probably had something to do with the damn cat, too, of course. For a month there had been a little orange tabby with a crooked tail who would pace along the back patio in the evenings, mewling for attention. Dean did not know where it had come from, nor whom it belonged to, but since its first appearance Cas had fallen in love. Against Dean’s insistence, the angel had often snuck out to the backyard to feed the cat scraps and cream. More than once, Dean had slid the glass door open to a crack, just to catch Cas in the midst of an impassioned monologue, talking to the stray cat like an old friend. “Cas, it’s a good thing we don’t have any neighbors or people would think you’re totally fucking nuts,” Dean had told him, shaking his head as they ate dinner that night.

                Naturally, ever since the first time Cas laid a hand on the cat and heard it purr, he had been trying to convince Dean to let him keep it. Finally, Dean had given in, and lately the cat had been sleeping comfortably on a stack of old socks in the den. But he hadn’t expected the bizarre response the cat’s presence drew from his angelic housemate. Castiel had taken to carrying the cat around in his arms like a baby, cuddling with it on the couch and watching children’s programs on TV. Sam, upon walking in on Cas feeding the cat with a bottle, had made the comment to Dean: “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say his damn biological clock was ticking.”

                Dean had vehemently rejected this theory, of course. But in his heart of hearts, he could feel the truth in Sam’s words. Cas had always been surprisingly passionate about defending the many various creatures of the world (particularly the warm and fuzzy ones), but his protective instinct had certainly seemed to reach a fever pitch as of late. Dean had begun to have nightmares about the angel stealing babies from the local hospital. He had confessed: “Sam, if I ever come home and hear a crying baby in my house, you’d better be prepared to let me sleep on your couch because I am so not dealing with Cas’s uterus envy.”

                The nurse in her Hello Kitty scrubs led Dean into a tiny room smelling of spearmint and that unmistakable ‘sterile’ smell all doctors’ offices had. “You can just take a seat and relax until Dr. French comes in,” she offered kindly, gesturing to the patient seat. Dean took a deep breath and reclined gingerly back into the chair, trying not to focus on the shining silver tools on the tray beside him or the torture-chamber-esque helmet light above his head. The nurse smiled and handed Dean another magazine before hurrying back out into the hallway. Dean gazed down at the magazine, lip curled in disgust. _Cosmopolitan_? “If I look like a guy who reads Cosmo I’ve gotta be doing somethin’ wrong,” he muttered aloud, flipping through the pages with all the morbid fascination of a kid looking at porn for the first time. He snorted at the article open in front of him, titled: _Ten Tips To Make Him Think You’re Heaven-Sent_! Listed were such gems as: “have his favorite alcoholic drink waiting for him when he gets home”; “massage his feet with your tits”;  
call his mother to wish her happy birthday without being asked”; and Dean’s favorite so far: “send him pornographic self-photos when he’s hanging out with friends so he’ll know what he’s missing at home”.

                He was trying in vain to imagine the scenario of “write your initials in semen on the furniture” when Dr. French suddenly walked in, looking as much like a middle-aged Ken doll as a man possibly could without actually being made of plastic. Dean hastily tossed the Cosmo into the basket in the corner when the dentist’s back was turned, and wriggled into the seat more securely. “Good to see you today, Mr. Winchester,” Ken Doll greeted, his smile so blindingly white that Dean wondered if any of his teeth were even real.

                “Yeah, nice to meet you,” Dean replied, giving a half-smile in lieu of the ache in his left cheek.

                Dr. French settled into the pristine white chair next to Dean and slipped on a pair of pale blue gloves. “So, I hear you’ve got a bit of a cavity situation going on?”

                Dean nodded. “Yeah, seems that way.”

                “Well, going by your chart it looks like you haven’t had a dental checkup in years,” Ken Doll chastised, in that obnoxious self-righteous doctor tone. _And you wonder why_? Dean thought darkly.

                “Yeah, I’ve been putting it off for awhile, I guess.”

                “Now, you know I’m supposed to give you the whole lecture on why dental health is important. But you’re an adult and fully capable of making your own decisions, so I’ll skip the speech,” Dr. French told him patronizingly. Dean fought the urge to visibly shudder.

                “Yeah. Thanks.”

                “So, let’s see how bad it is. Lean back and say ‘ahhh’.”

                Here it came: the knot of nerves in Dean’s stomach. He swallowed thickly and tilted his head back, stretching his mouth as widely as he could. Dr. French picked up a long, thin tool and began to poke around Dean’s molars, the metal frigid against his gums. “Oh boy! That is a pretty big cavity you got there, Dean.”

                “That’s why I’m here, fucker,” Dean attempted to say, but it came out more like: “Ah-wah-ah-hah-fah.”

                “Alright, well, we’ve got a couple of different options here today,” Dr. French continued, rifling through a little drawer in the stand. “Do you have a ride home from the office?”

                Dean nodded. Sam was slotted to pick him up in an hour. Dean had blown him off at first, with the claim, “I think I can handle a little anesthetic, Sam.” But his brother was pushy, as usual, and eventually Dean had relented.

                “Okay, perfect. Well, I can stick you in the gums with this,” and the dentist held up a somewhat terrifying needle, “or I can just hit you with some happy smoke.”

                “Option B, thanks,” Dean replied, rubbing at his jaw.

                “Fine by me. Lay back and don’t move. You can breathe normally,” Dr. French instructed, pulling a little round face mask down from the helmet structure hanging above them. “Just relax. I’ll be back in about five minutes. You’ll be done in no time.”

                With that, the dentist stood and left, leaving Dean to suck in long drags of laughing gas. He felt his head grow light and dizzy for a moment, before the calming peacefulness set in. He smiled in the face mask, feeling his limbs go slack and his eyelids fall shut.

 

                Twenty minutes later, when Dean’s green eyes opened, there was a vampire hovering over him, fangs exposed and hands dripping blood. Dean let out a shriek, only it came out as more of a warble, what with the gauze in his mouth. The vampire grinned and said, “Once I got in there, turned out that tooth was worse off than we’d thought! Had to pull the sucker. But the good news is that it’s all the way in the back so no one has to know.” He winked and Dean’s head ached with confusion.

                “Oh! More good news. You get some free swag!” the vampire exclaimed, pulling a little plastic bag from a drawer and handing it to Dean. “Toothbrush, floss, and some really great pain pills. Come with me, I think your ride is here.”

                Hesitantly, Dean stood and followed the vampire into the lobby, mind reeling from the undulating walls and speckled light flooding his vision. “Am I hexed?” he wondered aloud, the words slurring in his mouth until they were nearly unintelligible.

                “Shh, don’t talk! Don’t wanna knock that gauze loose yet. Dry-socket is a real pain.”

                Dean wobbled on his feet as the familiar, towering figure of Sam approached, a bemused smile on his face. “How’d it go?” Sam asked the vampire.

                “Great! He went out like a light and that rotten tooth is outta there.”

                “Fantastic, thanks,” Sam replied, reaching toward Dean. He stumbled back and away, tripping over a stack of giant Lego blocks on the floor. The vampire snickered.

                “You might want to call his place of employment and let them know he needs tomorrow off, just in case,” the vampire advised, pulling a pen and clipboard from a desk behind a transparent wall. He extended both to Sam, saying, “Could you just sign here so we have proof that Dean got a ride home today? For liability purposes.”

                “Of course, yeah.”

                “Great. Thanks. Okay! Well, have a good afternoon, guys. And make sure you baby those gums, Dean! No burgers or corn on the cob for a few days,” the vampire suggested, baring his fangs.

                Dean could only stare, horror-struck, and eventually the vamp simply laughed and said, “Take care,” before disappearing down the hallway.

                “Come on, Comfortably Numb,” Sam said, taking Dean’s arm and leading him out into the sunshine. Dean blinked and shaded his eyes with one shaking hand.

                “Wheh deh Empaha?” Dean asked, and Sam snorted.

                “I drove my car, Dean. The Impala is at your house.”

                “Ah.”

                Sam eased Dean into the passenger seat of his silver Prius and closed the door. Some sort of soft indie rock was drifting from the speakers, and Dean leaned back into the vaguely musky seat. What kind of air freshener was Sam using? “Smehs lah bahs eh hah,” Dean grumbled through the wad of gauze in his cheek. Sam gave him a poisonous stare.

                “It’s sandalwood.”

                The engine purred to life and the Prius pulled away from the parking lot out onto the bumpy Alaskan road. “Sah-dah-wah smehs lah bahs.”

                “Sure, Dean.”

                As the buildings and traffic lights turned to pale green trees and burgeoning springtime flowers in the medians, Dean found himself drooling a little on himself. He quickly wiped his mouth with his sleeve and glanced at Sam to make sure he hadn’t seen. But of course, the bastard had seen the whole thing, and was unsuccessfully stifling a giggle. “That’s attractive.”

                “Shah ahp.”

                “Just—try and get some sleep when you get home, okay?” Sam said, turning up the volume on the song playing. Dean shrugged, oddly intrigued with the zipper of his jacket. Sam looked over, concern etched across his face. “Uh, maybe I should stay with you for awhile and make sure you don’t accidentally set yourself on fire or something…”

                “Nah, ah’m guh!”

                “Yeah, right. Dean, you’re drooling again.”

                Dean hastily swiped at his chin and looked away out the window. “Deh’sh Cahsh.”

                Sam shook his head, rolling his eyes. “Yeah, like Cas is gonna have a clue what to do with you.” Suddenly his face scrunched up in disgust. “Ugh, I don’t even want to know, actually.”

                Even through the haze of fog surrounding his mind, Dean’s brain had the decency to send an embarrassed blush flooding across his cheeks. The remainder of the drive was spent with Dean listening as Sam droned on and on about the precautions to take post-dental surgery. Dean wondered vaguely how long it would be before he could drink a beer. _Don’t see how it could possibly hurt_ , he thought. By the time the Prius pulled into the covered concrete driveway, Dean was already fantasizing about lying on the couch in his boxers with a case of beer and a couple pain pills.

                “Alright, come on, Dopey,” Sam was saying, as he heaved Dean out of the seat.

                “Nah Doh-eh.”

                “A little dopey,” Sam persisted, smiling fondly. Dean followed him into the house, squinting in the sunlight and wishing absently that he was tall enough to pick the flowers growing on a tangled vine across the top of the drainpipe. Cas was seated at the kitchen table, his music theory textbook and notebook laid out in front of him. The orange tabby was curled up on top of another book that read _A Midsummer Night’s Dream_ , purring and licking her paws. The angel’s face lit up at the sight of Dean and Sam, a toothy smile breaking his beautiful, stubbly face in half.

                “You look like a squirrel,” Cas commented, cocking his head. Dean nodded and slumped into a chair. The cat mewed plaintively and crawled toward him, begging for attention in that desperately needy way typical of strays.

                “He had to get that tooth pulled,” Sam explained. Cas’s face fell.

                “What?” the angel’s eyes widened and he looked absolutely heartbroken. “Dean, I warned you! Sam, you should have let me fix it.”

                “No, it’s fine, really!” Sam insisted. “It was just a molar, Cas, you won’t even notice.”

                “Still,” Cas sighed, “He was perfect before.”

                Sam bit his lip and Dean heard the jingle of keys in his hand. “Well, just—make sure he doesn’t eat anything solid for awhile, okay? And he’s got meds for the pain if he needs it. But only if needs it,” Sam instructed emphatically. Cas nodded, still transfixed by the lump protruding from Dean’s jaw. Sam muttered, “Okay, then. I’ll just… go.” And with that, he turned and was gone.

                Cas returned to his textbook, every now and then glancing upward worriedly at Dean, as though he expected the hunter to explode at any moment. The tabby nuzzled her way into Dean’s lap, nibbling at his shirt and kneading her claws into his knees. Dean giggled at the tickly sensation, and after a few minutes, he lowered his head to rest on his arms, and promptly fell into a dreamless, twitchy sleep.

 

                “Dean?”

                The hunter opened his eyes groggily and yawned, remembering too late that there was a hunk of blood-soaked gauze in his mouth. He pushed it back into place with one finger before he realized that the bleeding had finally stopped. He sat up and tossed the sopping wet wad into the garbage can. Cas was leaning over him like a worried mother, scrutinizing his face.

                “Cas, I’m fine,” Dean lied. In reality, even though the bleeding had ended, the ache in his gum was sharpened. His whole face pulsated with the pain of it. He cursed himself for being so pathetic; after all, he had suffered far graver injuries than this in the past. But somehow this sort of agony was worse.

                “You’re in pain,” Cas noted instinctively, fingers ghosting under the hunter’s chin.

                “Kinda, yeah.”

                Cas reached into the plastic swag bag from the dentist’s office and withdrew a little orange vial of pills. He read the label carefully before twisting the cap and dispensing two tablets into his palm. He took a jug of water from the fridge and slid it in front of Dean. The cat bristled at the sound and scurried away. Dean took the pills in one gulp, stood, took a few beers from the fridge, and crossed to the couch. Cas watched as the hunter wiggled around, struggling to get comfortable. For an hour, Dean sat that way, grumpily arranged between a slanted cushion and a bundle of threadbare blankets, downing the beers like shots. Finally, Dean merely gave up and made the wobbly trek to the bedroom, determined to fall back asleep until the pain was gone.

                He pulled the sheets over himself and nestled into one of the many pillows stacked against the headboard. He jumped a little as the cat edged its way up the bed and curved into the bend of Dean’s knees. She thrummed happily and Dean could see the tip of her tail waving back and forth, almost like a dog’s. “Damn it, we’re gonna have to name you soon, aren’t we?” was the last thing Dean said before he fell back into unconsciousness. But this time, it was not a peaceful, empty sleep.

                Dean felt a digging in his ribs and groaned. “I just want to sleep,” he mumbled.

                A sudden drumbeat fell upon his ears and he flipped over to see _actual music notes_ dancing past his eyes, like butterflies on a breeze. It was a familiar song they played, sprinkling sound across the air. Dean felt the vibration of a bass guitar, the sensual croon of a voice he knew. “Cas?”

                He sat up, the sheets bunching around his hips as he looked around desperately. The walls were fluctuating between shades of deep purple and aurora-borealis green, blue, and gold, similar to a night sky in winter. His eyes rolled upward and he gasped at the sight of swirling snow drifting from the ceiling, which had changed to a sort of dark abyss. He could see the snowflakes as clearly as paper cutouts, but they dissipated feet above his head, and he felt strangely warm, as though submerged in a Jacuzzi.

                There came that voice again, like liquid fire in his veins, and he strained to peer through the cracked doorway of the bedroom. “C-Cas? You there? What’s going on?”

                “Yes, Dean.”

                The angel pushed the door open, and Dean’s mouth fell open. Cas was dressed all in white, but substantially less-covered than a typical angel, in boxers and a well-fitted T-shirt. But it was the fuzzy halo headband in his hair that struck Dean as truly bizarre. “What are you…”

                Cas smiled and raised a finger to his lips. “Shh, don’t speak. We don’t need words.”

                “Okay, but---,”

                “Hush, baby,” Cas cooed, and Dean’s eyes grew round. Cas had never called him ‘baby’ before, and Dean wasn’t entirely certain that he liked it. But the angel was swaying now, crossing the room with the unabashed sexual grace of—well, an exotic dancer. Dean sat transfixed, unable to produce any coherent protest as Cas leaned over the end of the bed, long fingers splayed over the footboard.

                The pink lips parted and he began to sing, “ _Oh, oh-oh-oh-oh-ohhh, you don’t have to go, oh-oh-oh-oh-ohhh_ ,” his voice low and rasping and sweeter than whiskey. Dean drew a long, heavy breath as the angel crawled over the wooden board, kneeling on all fours. “ _You don’t have to go_...”

                “Zeppelin?” Dean breathed, and the angel bit his lip, lashes lowered seductively.

                “ _Ah, ah-ah-ah-ah-ahhh, all those tears I cried_...”

                “Oh, what the fuck?” Dean murmured, but he felt his stomach lurch.

                Castiel moved closer, still on hands and knees, “ _When I read the letter you sent me it made me mad, mad, mad_ ,” he all but whispered, tone all honey and thick, dripping want. The musical notes swelled and pranced in a dizzying circle around the area right above Dean’s head, a few stray staccatos dancing in orbit around the angel’s faux-halo. Dean felt a rush of blood downward as the angel leaned back on his knees and pulled one finger into his mouth, full lips closing around it with a puckering pop. “Jesus fucking Christ,” Dean cursed.

                “ _Oh, oh-oh-oh-oh-ohh_ ,” Cas was singing, as he peeled off the white shirt and pressed himself flat to the bed. He writhed forward, between Dean’s legs, parted under the sheets. “ _Baby, please don’t go_ …” One eyebrow cocked and a devilish smile on his lips, the angel dragged fiery palms up the length of Dean’s thighs and pulled the sheets away all at once.

                “Is this real life?” Dean muttered hopefully as Cas slithered up to him and pressed hot, teasing kisses into his bared stomach and trailed his tongue south. He hummed into the hemline of Dean’s underwear, then pulled the elastic band with his teeth and tore them down and away. “Yep, this is happening,” Dean assured himself, still in awe.

                The music notes, the swirling skies—they were irrelevant. If this was a dream, it was a fucking fantastic one, and Dean did not intend on waking up anytime soon.

                “ _Baby, please don’t go_ ,” Cas was murmuring, just before his mouth closed down around Dean’s cock and the hunter groaned. The angel flicked a pointed tongue across the slit and dropped down once more. One of Dean’s hands pulled into a fist in the sheets, as he watched himself disappear into the angel’s throat.

                Music pooled around Dean’s head and a cloud of what felt like melting snow drizzled down his shoulders. His head fell back in the ecstasy of it all, and a single, low moan broke from his chest. Before he could even take stock of the moment, he felt Cas release him and then the angel tugged a little bottle from between the mattress and the footboard. Dean watched in anticipation and slight intrigue as Cas shed his boxers easily, then tracked one, two, three fingers along his own cock, and finally back further to prep himself for what was sure to come.

                Dean sucked in another hefty breath, feeling his own erection twitch at the sight of the angel’s own elated expression. A rolling sigh emerged from the swollen lips, and Castiel’s ocean-eyes fluttered shut. “Damn it, Cas,” Dean growled. A smirk danced across the angel’s face and before Dean could even prepare himself for the onslaught of sensation, Cas had impaled himself.

                On Dean.

                “ _Oh, oh-oh-_ ahhhhh,” the angel whimpered, half-song and half-cry.

                Dean lunged forward to grasp Cas’s hips, pulling him down with measured caution.

                Grinding down with more force than Dean expected, the angel extended his arms and grabbed hold of the headboard, using it to steady himself as he rode against Dean’s thrusts. Again, and again, and again, Castiel’s shrill cries mingled with the hunter’s gasping calls of, “Fuck, Cas, yes.”

                The angel’s voice careened into singing, the words, “ _Ooh, ooh, ah darling_.”

                Dean murmured, “Hell fucking yeah,” as Cas’s head pulled to the side, his face contorting into an expression of tortured pleasure, and Dean felt the sticky spill of the angel’s orgasm, hot on his stomach, and in one final buck Dean came, too. He mumbled, “Say it--.”

                “— _baby_ ,” Cas murmured lovingly in response.

                Maybe he liked it better than he’d previously thought.

                The angel pulled away for a moment, only to collapse into Dean’s arms, still breathless. The ending bars of “D’Yer Mak’er” had strung out across the ceiling-sky like a constellation and Dean had to smile at the strangeness, the wonderful daisy-chain of oddities that had become his life.

               

                “Mrrooowwww,” wailed the tabby cat from her perch on the footboard of the bed. Dean opened his eyes and glanced around, confused. The cat leapt forward and wriggled into the nearest throw pillow and immediately began to purr. The flashback of a psychedelic, colorful sexcapade rushed through Dean’s head and he rubbed his jaw. The ache was there, but it was a fading pain.

                The walls were a pale green once more, and the ceiling bare and plain save for the slowly-revolving mahogany fan. Dean sighed. _What a fucking wild dream_ , he thought, a little wistfully.

                Suddenly the doorway darkened and Cas appeared, carrying a tray of oatmeal and orange juice. “Sam said no hard foods,” he announced, and laid the tray in Dean’s lap. The hunter stared up at him, slightly disappointed that there was no halo on the angel’s dark head. Cas narrowed his eyes thoughtfully. “What?”

                “It’s just, uh, well,” Dean began, a chuckle breaking through. How was he supposed to explain this to Cas? “I had a pretty weird dream.”

                Cas smiled and sat down on the edge of the bed. “What did you dream about?”

                Dean took a sip of orange juice and replied hesitantly, “Uh, well, it was a sex dream.”

                The angel’s eyebrows raised a little. “Was I in it?”

                “Well, yeah. You usually are nowadays. As if I don’t see you enough when I’m awake—now you’re haunting my dreams,” Dean teased fondly. Cas dipped a tentative finger into the oatmeal and licked it off. Dean was reminded again of his bizarre dream antics.

                “I suppose you dream about the things that happen in your waking hours,” Cas reasoned, shrugging. Dean thought over this carefully.

                “Oh, no. This definitely wouldn’t happen. It was a little—trippy, you might say.”

                “How so?” Cas pressed curiously. Dean sighed.

                “You had a—you were wearing a halo. And you sang Led Zeppelin to me.”

                Cas laughed, and as usual, the sound both warmed and unsettled Dean; he wondered if he would ever be used to hearing the angel’s laughter. “Dean, that wasn’t a dream.”

                The hunter blinked a few times, trying to make sense of this. “What?”

                “We did have sex last night. And I did sing to you. And I wore a strange hat I found in a bin at the grocery store last week. I thought it was funny.”

                Dean stared into the angel’s face. Cas wasn’t wholly incapable of making jokes, but this was still an unlikely stretch. “Cas, seriously?”

                He nodded and scooped a spoonful of oatmeal up, pressing the tip of the spoon into Dean’s lip. He grudgingly took the bite. “We really did…”

                “Yes.”

                “What about the colors and the music notes and the snow?” Dean rambled.

                Cas gave him a quizzical look. “Well, I don’t know about that. You did imbibe a fair amount of alcohol and narcotics last night, though. I suppose that could explain any hallucinations.”

                “But the sex happened?”

                “Yes, Dean. We fucked.”

                Dean couldn’t help but grin at this. He’d been such a fabulous influence.

                Cas lifted another spoonful to Dean’s mouth. “Now, let me take care of you.” There was that damned biological ticking, like a gong in the angel’s head.

                “Better me than a kid,” Dean murmured, and Cas looked a little hurt.

                “I still haven’t given up on that, Dean.”

                “And how exactly do you think you’re gonna change my mind?” Dean said, denying the oatmeal admission. Cas straightened up, a defiant solemnity settling into his features.

                He replied cryptically, “However I must.”

                “We’ll see about that,” Dean said, with a wink. “In the meantime, _keep the halo_.”


End file.
